


Pickles

by notafamousperson



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crack, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Humor, M/M, bucky falls into steve's life instead of out of it, oh my god i'm a terrible person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-23 03:00:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6102631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notafamousperson/pseuds/notafamousperson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’d convinced himself that it was just a nightmare that had woken him. What else could it have been? He was in the middle of the suburbs, after all.</p>
<p>“Pickles, you little fucker!”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pickles

Steve loved to get up early in the mornings. In his opinion, the earlier he got up, the better. Unlike most people these days, Steve loved the sound of his alarm; he even had it set to his favorite song.

But as much as Steve loved to wake up in the mornings, he definitely didn’t love to get up like this.

_“Fuck!” Bang!_

Steve shot up in bed, the sound of the loud crash and curse making him forget for a few terrifying seconds that he wasn’t back east, fighting in the war, bombs going off with no warning almost constantly; he was home, in his too-soft bed, drooling on his too-soft pillow. After the moment of panic subsided and he remembered where he was, his heartbeat slowing, he’d convinced himself that it was just a nightmare that had woken him. What else could it have been? He was in the middle of the suburbs, after all.

“Pickles, you little fucker!”

Steve’s eyebrows furrowed and he hopped out of bed. That was _not_ the product of a nightmare, that was for sure. Steve’s dreams could get a little weird, but his weird dreams involved aliens attacking New York, and him having to fight them as a superhero (he’s got an overactive imagination, okay? Leave him alone.). This was way too calm to be a nightmare.

A burglar, then? Not likely, but possible. A burglar… here to steal his pickles? Was that a euphemism of some sort? Sam and Nat did always joke on him for not understanding today’s slang, so maybe pickles meant drugs, or money, or something. This was a pretty safe neighborhood, but anything could happen. Grabbing the bat he kept behind his bedroom door for this very reason, he walked on silent feet down the hallway and into the living room. _This is why you should sleep with a pistol beside your bed, Rogers,_ he heard Nat’s voice inside his head. He ignored her and kept moving, wary of every shadow his eye caught.

“Goddamnit,” a voice sounded. That wasn’t inside, that was in his backyard. Steve walked over to his sliding glass doors- _tsk, tsk, Steve, you are just begging to get shot,_ Nat said- and looked out, squinting to see through the dawn’s early light.

He could just barely make out a dark silhouette of a person, sprawled out on his lawn. Steve quickly dropped his bat and ran outside.

“This is not an attempted burglary,” the stranger groaned, head lolling to the side. _Ooh, he’s cute, ask him out,_ Nat’s voice told him in his head. Steve ignored her, and kneeled down to inspect the man currently crushing his tulips.

“What happened?” Steve asked, eyebrows drawn in. From the looks of it, the man’s arm was severely broken, though he could only see so much of it, given the rest of his body was on top of it.

“Pickles _sabotaged_ me,” the man hissed, more from anger than pain. Though he did seem to be in a lot of that. Of _course_  he was rambling about pickles, the poor guy was delirious from pain, Steve thought, staring down at him in pity.

“Okay, well, I’m going to have to insist on taking you to the hospital,” Steve said, trying to use his professional voice instead of his panic voice.

“Sure thing, pal, if you can get me there, because quite frankly, I think my ass bone is shattered,” the man replied, and Steve had to fight back a laugh. _Funny, too? Sounds like a keeper. Opposites attract, you know,_ Nat said in his head.

“Shut up, Nat!” Steve snapped. The stranger paused in his wincing to stare up at Steve.

“Alright, buddy, I’ll try to keep it quiet, but my name’s Bucky, not Nat,” the man- Bucky- said.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry- I wasn’t talking to you!” Steve stammered, his cheeks turning red.

Bucky hummed. “So you were just talking to yourself, then. Nice to know.”

Steve groaned, rubbing his forehead. “It’s not- like that. It’s just-”

“Look, I was just kidding. Everyone does it, you’re not crazy, I understand,” Bucky replied, shutting Steve up. “But were you talking to yourself when you said you’d take me to the hospital? Because as much as I admire your bravery in admitting that you might need some outside assistance with your problems, I’m about 99 percent sure that my left arm is broken. I think a piece of bone might actually be stabbing me in the back.”

“Sorry, yeah, I was talking to you. Here, let me just-” Steve grabbed Bucky’s right shoulder and elbow and gently eased him up, moving slower as he hissed in pain. When he was finally sat all the way up, he held up his left arm gingerly, and Steve winced in sympathy at the sight.

“Oh, shit. It looks like Harry Potter’s wrist when he fell during that quidditch game in the Chamber of Secrets,” Bucky remarked, groaning in pain as Steve helped him stand. They walked through Steve’s house, Steve supporting most of Bucky’s weight as they went.

“You know, you’re so huge that I bet you could just carry me if you really wanted,” Bucky remarked, staring at Steve’s flexing biceps with blown pupils. Realizing what he had been doing, he coughed and looked away. “Erm. Not that I want you to or anything. Just a, uh. An observation.”

“I see,” Steve chuckled, neck pinkening. _He’s so smitten, Steve, make a move!_ Nat scolded him in his head. _Not exactly the time, Nat,_ he replied, dismissing her. He opened the passenger door for Bucky and eased him into the car. “Please don’t steal my car when I close the door.”

“Don’t really think I’m in the shape for that right now, pal,” Bucky said, cradling his wrist to his chest.

“You never know.” Steve muttered to himself as he walked to the driver’s side. As they drove to the hospital, Steve tried to keep his eyes on the road, but found it almost impossible with the mystery sitting next to him. “So,” he began, unsure how to phrase his question, “how did you, uh, end up in my tulips?”

“I fell off your fence, Steve, keep up,” Bucky deadpanned. Steve coughed.

“And how did you end up _on_ my fence?”

“Pickles, Steve. _Pickles_. Pretty sure I mentioned that one,” Bucky replied.

“Pickles? Like the cucumber in vinegar? Or money?” Steve asked. Maybe Bucky really _was_ crazy, and this whole thing _was_ fake, and he was planning Steve’s murder right now. Maybe pickles was a type of poison. Why did he let a stranger that literally dropped into his yard get in his car with him alone? How dumb could he possibly be?

“What? No. And are you really worried about Pickles? Didn’t you notice that I said your name?” Bucky asked, glancing over at him.

“Uh…”

“You didn’t tell me your name, Steve.”

“ _Oh my god_. How did you-” Steve choked, regretting the decision not to carry a gun, no matter how much he morally disagreed with them. His morals were about to get him murdered.

“I’m a spy for the U.S. government. Pickles is the codename of a Russian KGB spy that I’ve spent the past six months tracking down, and I caught him trying to break into your apartment,” Bucky told him, suddenly serious.

“ _What?_ ” Steve gasped.

“I’m just messin’ around, Steve, don’t have a heart attack. Me and Nat are friends, sometimes she talks about you,” Bucky laughed. “She mentioned that you lived in my neighborhood, and that you were a big, cute blonde- which is totally my type by the way- and I put two and two together when you said her name.”

“You _asshole_. Get out of my car,” Steve laughed, exhaling in relief. God, he was so gullible. A Russian spy nicknamed Pickles, really? Nat was never going to let him live that down. ”Please, I’m begging you, Bucky, don’t tell Nat. She’ll never let that one go.”

“Hm, I’ll consider it. If,” Bucky paused looking Steve up and down, “you’ll go on a date with me.”

“Really, that’s all?” Steve responded, smirking. “Deal.”

“Oh, wow, that actually worked?” Bucky asked, tone surprised. “Sweet.”

“What, did you want me to say no?” Steve asked.

“No, I was just expecting it to take a little bit more than that, if I’m being honest. Normally people do the whole hard-to-get thing.”

“Okay, fine. I refuse to go on a date with you.” Steve said. He fought back a laugh as Bucky choked.

“What? No. That isn’t fair!”

“Okay, fine. I’ll go on a date with you,” Steve said, “if you tell me how you ended up crushing my tulips. Really. Not some made up story.”

“Jeez, Steve.” Bucky grumbled. “Fine. I was chasing Pickles, my new cat, after he got out, and I, um. Fell. When he attacked my face.”

Steve noticed the scratches on Bucky’s cheek that he thought were caused during the fall. Holding in laughter, his face began to turn red.

“Go ahead, let it out,” Bucky sighed.

At his prompting, Steve burst with laughter. “Oh my god, Pickles _did_ sabotage you!”

“I know! That little shit!”

~

As Bucky got his cast put on, Steve called Natasha.

“So, I met Bucky.”

“Oh? What do you think?” Natasha asked.

“Well, we’re at the hospital right now.” Steve said, looking at the vending machine options. He was starving, given that he didn’t eat breakfast this morning.

“What? Is he okay?” Natasha said, and Steve noted the alarm in her voice. Bucky must be really important to her, if she cared this much.

“Broke his arm, but he’s fine. How come you never mentioned him before?” Steve asked, putting six quarters into the machine and pressing the buttons for a moon pie. The snack slowly slid forward and Steve watched it hungrily.

“I didn’t think you’d be comfortable. He’s very… forward.”

“I’ve noticed. We’re going on a date.” Steve smirked.

_“What?_ I’ve been trying to hook you up with someone for _three years_ , and he gets a date in an hour?”

“I guess I like forward, Natasha. I’m thinking about taking him to IHOP after this, what do you think?” Steve asked, ripping open the moon pie wrapper.

Natasha sighed. “Which arm is it?”

“Left.”

“He’s left-handed, might wanna reconsider.”

“Or I could just feed him.”

“Oh, gross, Steve. I’m hanging up now. Tell Bucky I said to call me.”

Steve laughed. “Will do,” he replied, but she’d already hung up the phone.

~

“So, what do you think about IHOP?” Steve asked Bucky as they walked out of the hospital.

“Sounds great, if you’re alright with feeding me. I’m left-handed.” Bucky replied, pointing at his wrapped up arm.

Steve smiled sweetly at him. “Shouldn’t be a problem. We can get takeout.”

Bucky’s mouth dropped open. “Oh my god. Is it too early so say that I love you? It is, isn’t it. Oh, I don’t give a shit. I love you, Steve Rogers.”

Bucky grabbed Steve by the front of the shirt with his good arm, and their lips connected. Letting out a huge sigh, Steve relaxed into the kiss. He could definitely get used to this.

~

Pickles was sitting on Steve’s bed when they bursted through the door, Bucky’s shirt abandoned in the kitchen. Steve ran into Bucky’s back, almost spilling strawberry syrup onto his white carpet. “Uh, Buck? There a problem?”

“That little _fucker_.”

Pickles hissed, hopped off the bed and walked out the door.

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is also on my tumblr: buckymyson.tumblr.com  
> come talk to me!


End file.
